


Fighting The Wind

by MixterGlacia



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Chronic Illness, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6830308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixterGlacia/pseuds/MixterGlacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They used to tell him it was just hyperventilation. He was starting to think that they were wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting from my Tumblr. Written to cope with own medical frustrations lately.

The first time it happens, Wash is in the med bay on the Mother of Invention. He was startled out of sleep, feeling like he was being throttled by someone. They told him he’d been clipped hard by a Warthog that Wyoming hot wired wrong. He tried to pay attention, taking sips off of the blissfully cold water a nurse shoved into his hands. They guessed the breathing issue was hyperventilation and said he could go.

The next time, he was awake. Awake but begging any higher power that might exist and listen that he wasn’t. Wash would have given anything for this to be a nightmare. There was no ignoring that he was in fact awake, the sounds were too real. The communication channel blaring in his ear, saying that Maine had been shot. If it was just one or five bullets they wouldn’t even mention it. This had to be bad. Wash didn’t notice the way his breathing started to hitch at first. Not when he was letting Maine clutch at his arm, even if it hurt like hell. Not until he was chasing after the medics, trying to keep up with them as they rushed his partner, the one who he was supposed to keep safe, into the operating room. Only when the air felt thick as water, and he stumbled over his own feet. Only when he couldn’t get up did he realize that it was happening again, and it was worse. The medic that came back for him said it was hyperventilation like before. Wash accepted the diagnosis and waited for any news on Maine.

Then it happened in the quiet of the recovery ward. He was reading one of the few books he’d managed to scavenge since he’d gotten wrapped up in PFL. He wasn’t worked up or worried, just waiting for his partner to wake up after the most recent operation. It was a minor one and there was no danger involved. That didn’t seem to matter though. Wash blinked a bit, as he realized his breathing was becoming labored again. The on call nurse wasn’t sure what to make of it but chalked it up to all the stress lately. He was beginning to think something might actually be wrong.

 

It didn’t happen again for a while. At least, not as obviously as it did before. He’d have little episodes here and there, but nothing to write home over. The next notable one was after he’d gotten into an argument with Maine. Well, more Sigma than Maine. The AI didn’t seem to like the fact that Wash could understand Maine enough that, most of the time, they didn’t need Sigma to play translator. It wasn’t like they had big long discussion like politics or anything. It didn’t take a wizard to understand that pointing usually meant “Look” or “That Way”. 

Sigma exploded at him roughly 3 months after. He was shouting about assumptions and manners, how Wash should be ashamed of himself. It didn’t make sense. Maine seemed to just be there. Like a glorified car the fiery AI would use to move around. He wasn’t stopping Sigma from screaming like he did the first two months. His eyes almost looked lifeless. Almost.

That was enough to trigger the reaction again. The fear that Maine wasn’t Maine anymore. He realized that he’d been ignoring the red flags. Worst of all, he had the awful feeling that he couldn’t save his partner from this. He had to try though.

 

The next day, Epsilon came into his life. For the next day and a half, machines had to do his breathing for him.

Everything fell apart around him. Yet, he had a job to do.

He learned to hide it. Pretending that there was nothing wrong. He got very good at appearing to breathe normally.

Delta started to voice his concerns before Wash hushed him. Before he was spirited away by that one person Wash was supposed to keep safe and sane. By him and all the others that made his mind their home. Or their prison.

 

He fought back the gasping breaths as he had to wander the desert with that shell of a Freelancer. Struggling against the awful heat and dust. Snapped at the sham of a medic when he tried to ask him about the wheezing he heard.

He forced his way through the burning pain when he realized once and for all, that he could never have done his one job for his partner. He couldn’t even be the one that killed him. To let him finally have peace. 

No, he wasn’t able to just put a bullet through his head. He let him be dragged off that cliff. Let him fall. Let him drown in the freezing depths. How fitting when Wash collapsed, feeling like he was drowning just like Maine was. Suffocating on the crisp air. He wished that they would have just killed him there. Of course he was never that lucky.

 

He moved on. Learned to hide it better. Learned to fight it better. Pretended it didn’t exist. He couldn’t do this forever though. 

Many days and many attacks came and went. While Wash kept pretending, his team started to notice things. They weren’t sure what to make of it. Then Tucker was wearing Maine’s armor, and Wash couldn’t keep pretending. 

He crumpled to the floor, gasping and wheezing for air, his body desperate to get oxygen. He could faintly register someone shouting orders, sounding like they were worlds away. Then there were large hands, clumsily pulling his helmet off and unlatching his chest plate. When his vision finally refocused, he realized it was Caboose. He was gently easing Wash into sitting up against a wall, mumbling nonsense (or maybe it made perfect sense, he couldn’t tell) and pushing the hair out of his face. It took a bit, but he finally understood what the worried man was asking.

“M-Mr. Washingtub, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

It was a while before Wash was able to figure out how to explain, while the crowd grew while soldiers regrouped and heard what was happening.

“It…it’s not-” He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know what it is. It’s been happening for years now I just-” Words caught in his throat as he spotted Carolina watching intently. He took a shaking breath before continuing.

“It feels like I’m fighting against the wind.”


End file.
